


Paroles de J’aime

by trepidatingboarfetus



Category: Grand Theft Auto Series (Video Games), Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:21:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27552994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trepidatingboarfetus/pseuds/trepidatingboarfetus
Summary: From the newly released The Lost Boys Volume One GTA V Fanzine!There many ways to say "I love you," so why hasn't Michael heard it at least once?
Relationships: Michael De Santa/Trevor Philips
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	Paroles de J’aime

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FendersFAN](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FendersFAN/gifts).



> Remember me mentioning that I was busy working on a huge-ass GTA V Fanzine project with a friend and a bunch of kickass writers and artists? Well, it's out!! Go grab it! 
> 
> https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1wuK7xUDkj4vioR6lWT3eqaeelOHmMwv3
> 
> Another one written for A Shipping Life/FendersFAN with love. :)

There are many ways to say _I love you_ in just the English language alone and many more when other languages come into play, Michael knows, and it’s such a stupid fucking phrase that’s alluded him his whole life from his frigid fishly mother to his stone-cold bastard of a father, so he can’t even begin to understand why these silly three damn words affect him so much when Trevor says them so flippantly.

His heart painfully wrenches watching Trevor flirt antagonistically with Lester for the umpteenth goddamn time, telling him that he loves him whenever the ailing man tells them he has something good planned, something that can bring them in some actual bank for their wallets -- or in T’s case, some support for his ever-growing crank habit.

He’s unsure if it has less to do with the way Trevor snakes himself around Lester’s fragile body with a laugh because he’s always doing inane shit like that to everyone than more to do with the actual words themselves being uttered. 

He rolls his eyes and sighs when T hugs his friendly neighborhood crystal supplier and tells him how much of a lifesaver he is and how much he loves him _so fucking much right now_ while he’s sticking wads of cash in the man’s pockets without counting them. Michael is sure that he overpaid by a mile but also knows that at this point, his best friend has so much saved up that he doesn’t care about the money. He doesn’t do this shit for the cash. It’s purely for the thrill.

_(And Michael knows somewhere deep inside of the wall of denial he’s built that Trevor has told him several times that he’s only along for the ride because Michael keeps him entertained more than any drug could ever hope to do.)_

He tries to laugh it off every time T blows kisses at women, and _hell_ , even men, because he knows that Trevor doesn’t really care about any of them. He likes to freak people out. It’s a mind game thing with him. He wants to be perceived as weird and scary because he spent so much time being kicked around as a youth. Sometimes...sometimes it gets old though, and he wishes he’d grow the fuck up already. 

He bristles angrily the night Trevor drunkenly puts his arm around Brad Snider and whispers that he thinks he loves him into his rapidly turning red ears, and that’s it. Michael threatens to put Brad’s miserable ass into a hole in the ground. He’s pretty sure women everywhere will thank him for it, too. 

It takes several people to pull him off Brad’s shaking and beaten body, including Trevor who’s hotly in his ear the entire time, asking him what his fucking problem is. 

He looks at his fists as if they no longer belong to him. 

Sure, he’s hit people before, but not family. _You don’t turn on family._ What the fuck is wrong with him? He feels like he’s channeling his father right now, and it’s not a pleasant place to be. 

Someone pulls him away from the rest of the crowd into a janitorial closet back by the bathrooms of the bar, and he’s not surprised to see that it’s Trevor. 

“What the fuck has gotten into you, Mikey?”

He looks down at his hands again, studying the wrinkles and finer details that mark them in the same vein as his father’s DNA. They’re meaty and hairy, sweaty at times, can palm a ball and fire both that and a gun with deadly accuracy, just like his old man. And can apparently beat the shit out of family, just like his old man. 

But there’s a sour milk taste in the back of his throat that makes him want to gag. Brad Snider’s obnoxious ass has _never_ felt like family. 

He regards the tall, lanky barely man in front of him with his almost sometimes borderline splay of curviness in places that make Michael tick, especially in the right clothes, sees the long brunette locks of hair framing his face and neck now -- a far cry from when they’d first met, and he’d still been trying to grow out his RCAF crew cut still. 

Michael sees his big doe eyes and feels that no matter how furious they may be or no matter how fucking crazy this lunatic can get, Trevor’s _his_ fucking lunatic, and he’s family. He’ll _always_ be family. 

It hits him like a ton of bricks at 90mph then why those three words mean so much. 

Trevor’s never said them to him. Just like his sad-sack father and his miserable mother. Never even got so much as an “I’m proud of you” or an “I love you” out of them even when he made All-State. 

And Trevor shouts how much he loves the whole fucking world except for one Michael Townley. _Why is that?_ _Doesn’t he deserve to be loved, dammit??_

As T is still going off half-cocked about jealousy and double standards, Michael squares his jaw and looks him dead in the eyes, and that stops the other man in his tracks slightly. It’s not ever been a thing born of fear between them but of fascination, Michael knows, and of attraction. 

“Why don’t you ever tell me you love _me_ , T?”

“H-huh?” the Canadian is taken by surprise. “What the fuck are you bitching about? Of course, I have.”

Michael shakes his head and crosses his arms, rubbing the elbows for courage or security, he’s not sure. “Nuh uh. Not one time, Trevor. You tell every other fucker on the planet including that sorry shitstain Brad, but me? Not even once,” he laughs bitterly.

Trevor looks at him oddly for a while as if contemplating what he’s said, and eventually, it’s as if an old lightbulb tries to flicker on inside his head, so he shakes it, grinning. “That’s where you’re wrong, sugar. I tell you every fucking day.”

Michael wants to sputter and cry and lash out with everything he _is_ and _has_ because this has got to be the _most_ delusional bullshit Trevor Philips has spewed yet, and sometimes he regrets ever running into this miserable bastard from up north who’s made his life colder than a thousand Canadian winters could ever hope to be cold.

Before he gets the chance though, Trevor continues. “You see a pretty piece of ass? I stay by your side. I find you face down in muff? I stay by your side. You sometimes hurt me with words or actions like my old man used to hurt me, Mikey, and it’s only you that I let hurt me so good, so just remember that when you say I don’t love you. I didn’t think it needed saying, but sure, I love you like no other,” he finishes as he grounds his boot into the floor absentmindedly. 

Suddenly all of the rage that has been building behind Michael’s wall dissipates, leaving him feeling wondrously stupid and exhausted. When he looks up in Trevor’s doe eyes again, he wonders how he could have ever doubted him, this beautiful creature before him, as he crushes Trevor's lips to his. 

And in this moment, he regrets _ever_ having regretted meeting the loveliest chaos to shoot a flare into his heart, setting it wildly ablaze. 


End file.
